


Everything You Need to Know about the World Can Be Learned Through Shark Week

by compo67



Series: Chicago Verse [131]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Curtain Fic, Dialogue-Only, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Growing Old, Growing Old Together, Grumpy Old Men, Hunter Retirement (Supernatural), M/M, Old Married Couple, Older Characters, Retired Hunter Dean Winchester, Retired Hunter Sam Winchester, shark week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 06:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20755487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/compo67/pseuds/compo67
Summary: There are ribs marinating in the bathtub. (For very good reason, dammit.)





	Everything You Need to Know about the World Can Be Learned Through Shark Week

“Can I ask why there are thirty pounds of ribs marinating in the bathtub?” 

“Shark Week, Sam.”

“Okay. But why in the bathtub?”

“That’s where they fit.”

“But why?”

“They’re in pans, don’t worry.”

“In the tub.”

“I got chicken marinating in the sink and steak marinating in the fridge. Only place I could put ‘em until tomorrow.” 

“Is that sanitary?” 

“I cleaned it first! Besides. They’re in pans, dammit. I wouldn’t just throw ‘em in there after a round of Clorox. This ain’t amateur hour.” 

“I’m just… having difficulty understanding why I’m looking at ribs in the bathroom.”

“If you need to ‘wash your hair’ for thirty minutes with that removable showerhead, go use the guest bathroom.” 

“What I do with the showerhead is my personal business.”

“You mean it’s  _ on _ your personal business.” 

“Nevermind that! When are you planning on taking the ribs out of the tub?” 

“Look, if they leak, at least it leaks into the tub. There’s method to my madness, now quit it.”

“I doubt that. I also doubt Shakespeare meant for you to use that line that way.”

“The lady doth protest too much--get the hell out of my kitchen.”

“We’re IN the bathroom!” 

“Well, goddamn, Sam, let a man work!” 

“I don’t even want to know what you’re doing in the sink.”

“It does kinda look like an autopsy, now that you say.”

“Gross.”

“Speak to the shrimp, Sammy.”

“Get it out of my face.”

“It’s not in your face, it’s in my hand.”

“Then get what’s in your hand out of my face.”

“Wet blanket.”

“Where else are you conducting experiments of terror? Are you baking empanadas under the coffee table?”

“That’s ridiculous. Of course not. The dough for them is rising in the garage.”

“Good lord. I’m going to the living room.”

“I just steam cleaned the couch--don’t sit on it.”

“Why the hell can’t I sit on my own couch?”

“Shark Week.”

“Don’t make me murder you, Dean.”

“As if you could. I’m marinating over sixty pounds of various raw meat. I could easily add in a Moose. No one would notice.”

“So you’re gonna take up the whole house with your raw meat--shut up--and not let me sit anywhere- _ shut UP-- _ AND you’re gonna threaten me?”

“Hey, ‘til our unsolvable murders do us part.” 

“You’re fixing to be the subject of a true crime podcast.”

“You know, you could  _ help _ .” 

“I refuse to be an accessory to the crimes against sanitary food preparation you’re committing all over our house.”

“I  _ cleaned _ shit!”

“Yeah, sure. Of course you did. Why are there post-it notes everywhere?”

“Don’t touch any of them.”

“Can you even read your own writing?”

“If my hands weren’t covered in lemon pepper marinade…”

“You’d what? Sit down and teach me how to read fluently in jerk?”

“Smart ass. Go take a nap. You got the dirty diaper look on your face.”

“If I’m cranky, it’s because of you.”

“Shark Week.”

“Don’t. Just don’t. Oh my god, there are post-its in the fridge.”

“It’s an organization system, way too sophisticated for you to understand.”

“Most of them read, ‘NO TOUCH SAM.’ That’s definitely too sophisticated for someone like myself, who has a law degree.” 

“Don’t wave your credentials around at me. Give that here. Quit messing around in there.”

“I can’t drink this beer?”

“Nope.”

“I’m drinking it.”

“Hey! That’s for the steak!”

“You already have steak marinating!”

“Fuck, I hate it when you hold it up with your fucking long ass arms like some asshole Sasquatch.”

“Explain why I can’t have this beer.”

“...it’s a spare.”

“Dean! You have post-its on everything in the fridge! What am I supposed to eat?”

“There’s a coupon for Arby’s in the trash. Fish it out.”

“Wow.”

“It’s almost like you  _ want _ to interfere with Shark Week, Sam.”

“No, I’m just questioning how the hell you think fifty people are going to fit in our living room and dining room to watch a show about sharks.”

“First of all, it’s not a show, it’s called Shark  _ Week _ . Second of all, I didn’t invite fifty people. Just twenty.”

“You’re cooking for twice that.”

“Leftovers.”

“Leftovers for the next three months?”

“Of course not. I’m serving something different every night. Shrimp and chicken tonight. Steak tomorrow. Ribs the next day. I got pork from the new butcher on May Street, of course I had to arm wrestle him for a good price. Goddamn hipsters taking over and driving the price up. I’m not paying $18.99 a pound for pork butt. I got a good bundle from him though.”

“Pray, the fuck is a bundle?”

“I froze it for Saturday. I got ten pounds of chicken, six pounds of ground round, four pounds of butterfly pork chops, five pounds of round steak, five pounds of pork chops, six pounds of bone-in New York strip, and three pounds of applewood smoked bacon.”

“I’m gonna hurl.”

“Just don’t hurl in the sinks. Or the tub.” 

“Did you consider maybe you bought too much meat?”

“Fuck no, it’s Shark Week.”

“What if I told you I’m DTF.”

“What if I told you to please never say that again.”

“You’d turn down the chance to fuck because of Shark Week.”

“...I guess I got five minutes.”

“Ugh.”

“Unless you wanna blow me here while I chop vegetables.”

“No, thank you.”

“See how you are.”

“You’re obsessing, Dean.”

“I am not obsessing.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Why don’t you cater this stuff? Why are you going overboard for Shark Week?”

“Sonofabitch.”

“Are you okay?”

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I’m fine. Just cut my thumb.”

“Let me see.”

“Sam.”

“Let me see.”

“It’s fine! I’m fine. It was your god awful pun that did it.”

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m just not on the same level of… enthusiasm as you are about Shark Week.”

“Shark Week is the study of humanity.”

“What.”

“It’s the study of evolution. Man vs. Shark. Shark vs. Man.”

“Please put a bandaid on.”

“Bandaids are for the weak. A shark’s ability to detect blood in the water is greatly exaggerated--but  _ Great Whites _ can detect this shit three miles away.”

“You’re still bleeding.”

“Sam. It’s a small cut. Why the hell are you so worked up about everything?”

“I don’t know. I’m just anxious. Maybe it’s all the post-its. Or the meat in the tub.”

“Hammerhead sharks have a 360 degree field of vision.”

“I don’t need shark facts.”

“Shark embryos can sense danger is approaching.”

“I don’t want to kiss you.”

“Great Whites can go weeks without eating. C’mere.”

“No, you’ll stain my shirt.”

“Tiger shark embryos eat each other in the womb.”

“Romantic. You taste like garlic.”

“You can learn everything you need to know about the world from Shark Week. It’s survival of the fittest. It’s a shark eat shark eat human world.”

“I don’t know how you can kiss me, talk about sharks, and indirectly quote ‘The Godfather’ while you bleed into the kitchen sink.”

“I’m talented like that.”

“If I go get you a bandaid, will you put it on?”

“Yes, I will put on a bandaid.”

“Fine. Take your hand off my ass.”

“This is the non-bleeding hand.”

“That’s comforting. Off.”

“Why? I like it here.”

“You need a bandaid. And a thorough mental health evaluation.”

“Go. Leave me to my work. And don’t touch anything else. I’m an artist. I must create.”

“You’re an artist who works in meat?” 

“Shark Week.”

“Stop saying that! Get your own damn bandaid. I’ll be in the bedroom, since you’re so disinterested.”

“But… people are coming over soon.”

“It’s two in the afternoon, for fuck’s sake.”

“You threw off my groove.”

“Will I use the purple dildo with the thicker base or the pink one that vibrates. Hmm.”

“Hey! Sam! Ugh. Let me just wash my hands!”

“If you say Shark Week one more time, you’re sleeping on the couch I’m not allowed to sit on.”

“I won’t say it!”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“...”

“...Candygram.”

**Author's Note:**

> a fic written for S! special thanks to my beta, Deb, who inspires my best work. <3
> 
> look up ‘Landshark SNL’ on YouTube for the Candygram reference. probably one of the things i quote the most--to my loved ones' chagrin. XD
> 
> if you'd like to find me outside of AO3, visit my tumblr: compo67.tumblr.com.


End file.
